disappears without leaving the slightest trace behind, as though
engulfed by the waters.

"Gone," he murmured--"gone! What was the name of the boy, the slave
who so defiantly charged me to remember his name? I remember, it was
Osman. Yes, Osman Bey, he said. Well, he may depend upon it I shall
remember his name, and he may also count on remembering that my name
is Mohammed Ali, if we should ever meet again. Oh, I envy him," said
he, in low tones, looking longingly at the horizon. "Oh, I would so
gladly have gone with him to the wondrous land the scha-er told of,
where slaves become heroes, and heroes princes. He, the slave, goes
thither; and I, who am free, am bound to this rock by my poor
mother, and must remain!"

The ship sailed on farther and farther on the bright waves. It
glided onward over the deep-blue sea two days longer; on the third
day the sailors shouted with joy, for the water had become green,
and this announced to the experienced seamen that they should soon
see land.

When the waves of the Mediterranean Sea change from blue to green,
the yellow coast of Africa is near. Another day passed, and the ship
entered the harbor of Alexandria. The black and brown people came
out to the ship, howling and yelling in their little boats, and with
them came the slave-dealers to look for human wares, to bargain for
the living as well as for the dead freight.

The captain shows the slave-dealers his line piece of goods, the boy
Osman Bey, and offers him as a good article of merchandise. "He is a
splendid servant, and knows how to color the chibouque, and how to